Soup

I was downing a spoonful of tomato soup when my dad spoke up.

“Is that him?” he asked me. Looking up, I followed the direction his finger was pointing in. We were at the restaurant to kill a few hours before our show. The him, or it I should say, was someone I had dated once. I say that word tentatively because I was really just playing around . . . Being young and naïve . . . I don’t know what you’d call it. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at that time.

He didn’t see us, or at least I don’t think he did. The woman he was with looked familiar. What is it with him and going after women who look like his mother? I should add that mother is also tentative. Master or mistress was more the correct term. Keeper would work just fine, too. She also reminded me of someone I knew in high school. Natalie? Or Madelaine?

“I never knew he was bi,” I murmured to myself. What did I care, though?

My dad seemed surprised. “What did you see in that schmuck?”

I shrugged my shoulders. To be honest I couldn’t tell him, because I couldn’t remember a single thing. I don’t think he really had that much of a personality to begin with.

Then again, he wasn’t that much of a human, if you follow me.

That poor girl was in for a rather nasty surprise.

“Oh well, he did you a favor, didn’t he?” That was my dad again.

“You have no idea,” I told him bluntly. “He’s on a whole different plane.” Despite being in the same general area as he was, I wasn’t really bothered that much by it. Thankfully.

That poor girl, I thought to myself again. Then I quickly reminded myself that this city was crawling with his kind. As I downed another spoonful of soup I heard my dad say something about cleaning up the riff-raff. I couldn’t help but smile.